


It Comes and Goes in Waves

by dragonofheaven07



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes Returns, Comfort/Angst, Deviates From Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Memory Related, POV Third Person Omniscient, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve, Protectiveness, Sad and Sweet, what is life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4686983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofheaven07/pseuds/dragonofheaven07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being captive so long in Hydra's fold, Bucky must fill in his missing memories and sort out the rest of his life. Steve, just happy to have his friend back where he belongs, is eager to help in any way he can, but knows he must put his secret feelings on hold. As Bucky comes to terms with himself and his past deeds, Steve's love might be reciprocated after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Comes and Goes in Waves

**Author's Note:**

> Some sweetness in the light of the D23 new Civil War footage. Oh the feels, so many of them. This is the first fic I've written in a while. I know this concept was probably done many many times, but I wanted to get all this out of me.

When Steve peered out to the streets below his apartment, there he was. It only took the thump of the unbolting window to get him to return to the evening shadows.

Steve didn’t care how, he didn’t care why. He didn’t even think. He leapt onto the fire escape, bounded down the railings of ten flights of steel stairs.

A glint of silver streaked across the alley just as Steve hit the concrete running. He homed in on its owner’s direction, dodging speeding cars and the odd civilian as he raced down the sidewalk.

The chase continued for miles around D.C., neither party letting up. Steve had to take shortcuts through three building side doors, almost toppled a few fruit stands, but he could see him now. His back was a black heaving mass a dozen yards away, his arms pumping, the ends of his long hair trailing from a baseball cap.

The subway entrance was further up the road. Steve would likely lose him in the crowd. He called out his name, “Bucky!”

Bucky halted. He stood stalk still, fists clenched, staring at the ground.

Steve jogged to catch up. “Bucky,” he repeated, shifting beside him, “how are--”

Bucky moved his gaze from Steve’s line of sight, still looking to the pavement.

For living by himself on the streets, Bucky had managed to scrape by. He’d lost weight, his cheeks narrower than when Steve last saw him on the helicarrier (though if he had the energy to evade a Super Soldier, Steve thankfully noted that Bucky still had some strength in him). His frayed clothing must have been filched from a thrift store. His skin had lost its healthy sheen, but apart from the dirt under his fingernails, he appeared passably clean.

The Winter Soldier gripped his left arm, groaned, wincing at the contact. Upon closer inspection, the metal had been dented near the top of his elbow.

Steve stayed where he was. He offered a hand to Bucky. “C’mon, you can wash up and get a change of clothes.” He paused. “Just a few hours, maybe. Doesn’t even have to be that long. You go when you want to go.”

Bucky bowed his head further. He closed his hazy eyes.

Steve waited five, ten, twenty minutes, his palm still presented. Finally, Bucky turned to him and nodded. Relief flooded the Captain.

“Thank you, Buck.” He smiled. “Let’s go.”

He started the way back to his apartment, his friend trudging behind him.

\--

Bucky didn’t speak at all during the trip to Steve’s, from the city streets, to the complex, to the rickety elevator. Only thoughtful glances to his new surroundings.

Steve didn’t push him to talk. Although questions buzzed through his head, he knew the last thing Bucky needed at the moment was an interrogation.

When Steve unlocked the door and stepped inside, Bucky faltered in the hallway. He bit his lip, holding his artificial arm, his brows knitted. His fingers were shaking.

“It’s okay,” Steve assured him. “No bugs. It’s just me here.”

Bucky nodded, gave a “Hmm,” in understanding. He ducked into the apartment, his body stiff as if he were wading into ice water.

“Bathroom’s over here, you can use my towels. Or if you want something to eat first, I just went grocery shopping yesterday. There’s soup and stuff in the cabinets and the fridge is pretty stocked. Oh, also if--”

“Thank you.”

The words gave Steve’s heart a kickstart. Hope.

Bucky’s eyes still gazed to the floor, filled with awkwardness and shame.

“You’re welcome, Buck.” Steve reached over and gave him a gentle squeeze on his shoulder.

Bucky flinched, and jumped back.

Steve at once retracted his hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to--whoa!”

He narrowly avoided a metal hook to the jaw.

Bucky’s eyes had gone a dull black. His hands had balled into fists, and he was ready to strike again.

Steve dodged through a flurry of punches and kicks, his arms covering him from the nastier blows. Furniture collapsed in their path.

“Bucky, stop it!”

Steve been driven back against a wall, when he noticed that Bucky, in his right hand, was now wielding a knife, poised to Steve’s throat.

Steve stopped the blade inches from his face as he yanked Bucky’s arm back. His fingers squeezed in desperation as Bucky continued to drive in the knife. Steve prayed he didn’t need to resort to breaking the bone.

“Bucky, _no_!”

Bucky snapped from his trance. He stumbled backwards. His arms went limp, and the knife clattered to the floor (Steve quickly picked up and pocketed the blade). Bucky held his head in his hands, the realization at what he’d done pulsing back to him. “Oh, god. Sorry, I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s not your fault. You don’t have to apologize.” Steve held up his palms in surrender. “I won’t touch you again without permission.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He just stood hunched over and holding his head, with Steve watching close by.

Calm eventually settled over the chaos. Bucky slid his hands back to his sides. He righted a coffee table that he’d knocked over in the frenzy, then moved on to the fallen lamp and bookshelf.

“You don’t have to do that.” Steve joined him in gathering some scattered books.

Bucky shook his head. “I want to.”

“Okay.”

It didn’t take long for the two of them to put the room back in order. “Thanks for the help.” Steve grinned.

“I’m sorry.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“No, it’s just that...” Bucky, for the first time that night, looked directly at Steve. “Your name. Your name is...” He scrunched his eyes shut in concentration.

Then he opened them slowly. “I don’t remember.” Bucky’s throat was dry, his voice a cracked choking sound signaling his defeat. “I should remember, but I can’t.”

The phrase tore a hole through Steve’s chest. He had to instruct himself not to sink to the ground. The Captain stayed tall and smiled to his friend. “My name is Steve, Steve Rogers,” he told him.

“Steve Rogers.” The name sounded foreign on Bucky’s tongue.

“You got it.” Steve nodded. “And you are--”

“Bucky,” he finished. “Bucky Barnes.”

“The one and only.”

\--

With some nudging, Bucky finally accepted a turkey sandwich, a hot shower, and a new shirt and pants. Already he looked leagues better with the color returning to his face and his hair regaining its normal luster.

By that time, Bucky had relaxed. Their re-meeting was over and done with, and the edge hanging over him was gone. While Bucky ate, they’d even made light conversation. He mostly stayed quiet, let Steve do the talking (stories about Steve’s landlady, his friends, absolutely nothing having to do with work or S.H.I.E.L.D.), but Bucky would say a ‘thank you’ or ‘yes’ or another according comment. Steve even caught him smiling once or twice.

Steve had recommended that Bucky had a safe place to sleep too. It was well past midnight, and Steve wanted to keep him off the streets if he could. Besides, the warmth of the steam was beginning to take a dreamy effect on Bucky.

“I’ll stay, but I’m not stealing your bed,” the Winter Soldier said insistently. He was sitting on the couch, his shoulders slumped and his eyes half-lidded. “You’ve already done so much.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Steve replied from the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.

“Yes, it _is_. I won’t take up your space.” Bucky stifled a yawn with his hand. “I wouldn’t...do that to you.”

When Steve came back to the living room, Bucky was asleep. Steve smiled, and draped a blanket over him. “Have it your way, then.”

He was about to leave, but something odd about Bucky’s position made him take pause. Bucky was on his back, stick straight on the cushions and utterly still, his body an arrow pointing forward. Steve had to kneel down to watch Bucky’s chest rise to confirm he was breathing.

What troubled the Captain was that in all the years he knew him, in all the sleepovers and naps on lazy afternoons, Bucky always slept on his side, and restlessly so. Even in the army, lying on his standard issue cot, Bucky would toss back and forth, holding his pillow in a bear hug.

Steve had finally asked him one day after a strategy briefing, “Do you have nightmares or something?”

His friend laughed. “The rest of the Commandos always give me dirty looks in the morning. Nah, it’s not nightmares.”

“Fear?” Steve suggested.

“I guess you could say that,” Bucky said. “When I was younger, it was over the family finances, school, friends, stuff like that. Now, it’s more of a worry. Not combat, not dying. I’ve accepted those.”

“Then what else?”

Bucky had only grinned. “I wonder.”

Steve presumed the changed sleeping habit was due to Bucky’s reconditioning. Hydra had stripped him of his identity, and left him a blank obeying slate. They provided the bare minimum care, gave him only the most necessary tools and skills to survive, and the rest was completing his missions.

Recognizing Bucky as the fabled assassin Winter Soldier was both the hardest and best thing Steve was ever faced with. He didn’t believe his eyes at first, thought it was some cruel joke, but the joke was real and still intent on killing him.

It pained Steve more than he wanted to admit, seeing someone so close to him so drastically different, reshaped into a monster. After the tragedy on the train, all he’d dreamed of was Bucky coming back to him, somehow surviving the fall and being by his side again. In the end, Steve had gotten his wish in the worst possible way.

He couldn’t help but feel, underneath it all, some bit of happiness. Someone else Steve loved from his own time period was alive and well, someone he cared for to the moon and back. Someone that he’d wanted to just take aside and admit all those pent up feelings to. And still a tiny rational part of him concluded, however much it disgusted him, that if Bucky had to suffer such pain for so many decades, he would have been better off dying in 1944.

But the past couldn’t be altered, it was what it was. So it goes. Bucky was here, now, safe, and that was all that mattered.

A lock of Bucky’s hair had fallen over his face. Steve leaned down to tuck it into place, his fingers hovering over Bucky’s cheek, when he suddenly drew his hand back. He’d told Bucky he wouldn’t touch him again, and, even as Bucky slept, Steve aimed to keep his promise.

He hadn’t been that close to Bucky since they’d reunited. Steve could feel the warmth of Bucky’s breath on his face, see his parted lips and peaceful closed eyes, the lines of pain and confusion wiped away. From that angle, Steve could almost perceive his Bucky, the one who laughed and smiled and fought the bad guys with him. He could almost put aside that his loved one remembered nothing of the past, and the inhuman cause behind that memory loss.

All Steve wanted in that moment was to put an arm around him, hold him, kiss those lips. But he couldn’t. He was achingly aware that no matter how much he adored Bucky, how much he wanted him, he had to put his own selfishness aside.

Bucky’s mental health was first priority. It was going to be an uphill battle as it was, Bucky shouldn’t have to be burdened with knowing about Steve’s true feelings. Steve would do all in his power to get Bucky well again and his memories back. Whether they would end up together or not.

Steve allowed himself one last look at Bucky before he left. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. Under his breath, so soft he could hardly hear his own words, he whispered, “Love you, Buck”, and turned away.


End file.
